Let Them Stare
by Hutchie
Summary: Starsky takes Hutch shopping to the local farmer's market.


**Let Them Stare**

by Allie

"Unreadable," scolded Starsky, tsking his tongue. He turned Hutch's shopping list over and peered at it as if it might make more sense that way.

"It is not. Give me that." Hutch grabbed the grubby, ratty paper from his partner's hand with a scowl. "It says—" He paused. His brow wrinkled. He peered closer. "It says—bean sprouts. I'm sure that's what it says."

"Yeah, you're sure, are you, pal?" Starsky snatched the list back, making a face at his partner and waggling his eyebrows. "That would mean you have to EAT them! You sure you don't want to try again?" He hid the list behind his back, and took two steps backwards. "Maybe it says McDonalds! Or 'Eat at Huggy's!'"

Hutch made a grab for the list but Starsky was too fast for him. He ran away and crumpled it up, and threw it in the trashcan on his way past. "Get your jacket!" he ordered. "We're goin' shopping the right way!"

Hutch put his hands on his side and scowled at his partner for just long enough to show that he didn't approve. Starsky gave him a knowing look. "Jacket," he said again, and jerked a thumb towards the door. "Don't worry—I won't make you buy anything you hate!"

"i_Make/i_ me! Starsky, you couldn't!" He grabbed his jacket.

"Could too." Starsky bounced towards the door, grinning now that he saw Hutch was following. "I'd do my puppy dog eyes! That always makes you give in."

"Does not!" said Hutch, sounding highly offended. "They have no effect on me whatsoever!"

"Then you admit you noticed." Starsky grinned at him over the hood of Hutch's old car as they reached it.

"Buddy, how could anyone miss it, when you put on that face? It's ridiculous on a grown man."

Starsky's face fell. "R-really, Hutch?" His eyes looked large and sad and his whole face seemed to radiate sorrow and vulnerability.

"No, Starsk, of course not!" Hutch hastened to correct. "I—I was just saying that because you do it too much! You shouldn't try to manipulate people, buddy!"

"Why not?" Starsky began to smile. "It just worked again." So saying, he pulled open the door to the passenger's side and hopped in.

"S-Starsky!" choked Hutch, his anger cut off in incoherence. He climbed in and gave Starsky a speaking glare. Then he started his engine under Starsky's cheerful gaze—on the third try—and pulled out onto the street. "Where are we going?" he asked.

"Oh yeah. I should drive," said Starsky.

"Now you suggest it! I'm not turning this thing off just so I can trade places with you."

"Because you don't think you could get it started again," said Starsky confidently.

"Because," said Hutch with dignity, "I don't like to add excess wear and strain on my car. Unlike some people, I don't prefer to squeal around corners, let the whole world know my progress, and wear out my engine and tires!"

"You're just jealous," said Starsky smugly. "Here, trade places with me. We don't have to stop the car."

"You can't do that."

"It'll work. Here. Get your butt in the air and—" He scooted over and tried to slide beneath Hutch.

"Starsky…!" complained Hutch, as they climbed under and over one another, trying to keep hold of the wheel and control of the pedals.

"I got it! Go!" commanded Starsky. The car took a squeaking sort of lurch forward as his foot found the gas pedal. Hutch landed on the passenger side ruffled and rumpled, glaring.

"Don't drive it roughly!"

"I won't."

Hutch glanced out the window—and then crouched down on the seat, trying to shield his face.

"What? Somebody you don't want to see?" Starsky glanced at him but kept most of his attention on the road and didn't try to look out the windows himself.

"People pointing and staring. Must've seen us trade places. I get the feeling that old lady is going to call the cops!"

"What, we didn't do anything illegal!"

"Um, we probably did, Starsky. Switching drivers without stopping the car isn't exactly in the driver's manual."

"Well, never mind. We can stop and tell them we're cops, if you want."

"Starsk…!"

"I'm kidding, Hutch."

"Well, don't. And be careful how you drive my car."

"Believe me, I am! It feels like it's about to fall apart."

He drove in near-silence for a few minutes, concentrating on the car's handling. His few comments were muttered and low. "Like driving an old boat," he said once.

"What was that?" asked Hutch sweetly, with a dangerous expression. He was combing a hand back through his hair and frowning.

"Old boat!" said Starsky. Then— "Here we are, Hutch!" He put on the brakes, which squealed alarmingly.

Hutch winced at the sound and looked around. "It's the market." From the outside, it looked like a building the size of a warehouse with a lot of cars parked around it.

"I can see that. I drove us here," reminded Starsky reasonably.

"Buddy, you're really full of it today. And why are we here? I've gone to the market before, and I like it."

"I know, but you always come home with the worst things, like—lentils, and—and cilantro!"

"There's nothing wrong with lentils and cilantro. If I recall, you liked cilantro the last time you ate it."

"I ate it? Blech!" Starsky made a face.

"You did too. In that soup I made, remember?"

"With the black beans?"

"Yeah. It was good, wasn't it?"

"It was great," admitted Starsky. "But I didn't know there was any cilantro in it or it mighta tasted worse."

Hutch reached across and gave him a light tap on the arm with his knuckles, and then closed his hand around Starsky's arm, and laughed. "You keep life interesting, partner. So, what do you plan to have me buy at market? You hoping to open my eyes to the junk food side of life?" He cast a tolerant smile at his friend.

Starsky nodded proudly. "They have a stand that sells fresh donuts. And—you know, Hutch, I happened to check—but you're out of donuts."

"No kidding, bozo." He laughed again and got out of the car. "Well—come on! Let's go buy you some donuts. Cilantro-flavored donuts…"

"They don't make those—bozo!" Starsky hurried after his partner. He slipped the jangling keys into Hutch's hand and then ran ahead. "And wait till you see all the meat stands. They have filet mignon for sale cheap if you buy it in bulk! It's real fresh, too."

"Real nice. Blow your week's budget on steak, probably have it go freezer burned before you can eat it all! Or rot if there's a power outage…"

"No worry, Mister Doom-and-Gloom. I'll help you eat it!"

"No kidding. With what? That's my week's grocery money."

"I'll go halfsies with you, and we'll have baked potatoes and steak every day of the week—and cilantro salad, if you want. C'mon, Hutch!"

"This was your plan all along wasn't it, buddy?" Hutch allowed himself to be dragged by the arm. He was smiling a little by this time.

"Maybe," admitted Starsky. "I just think if you're going to go all out on healthy food, sometimes you should get the healthy steak!"

"Filet mignon? Healthy steak?"

"Well, it's not all fatty like some steak. And it's easy to chew, so you—you won't hurt you gums. And it's protein! You're always telling me how good protein is for the muscles. Well instead of a gross-tasting shake with-with seaweed powder in it, you have pure, red meat protein that tastes good—and it'll build your muscles at least as good as those stupid shakes."

"It'll fatten us up and thin our wallets at the same time. Not the direction I wanted to go!"

Starsky put up no more arguments and listened to none. He just hauled Hutch inside and straight to the butcher's stand. He pointed through the glass at fresh cut steaks, almost pressing his nose against the glass. "See? Look at that! Practically still mooing."

"That really makes me want to eat it." Hutch glanced at the meat, and the price. When the butcher's assistant moved closer and asked if she could help them, he put a smile on his face. "Er—yes. How much meat do we have to buy to get it at that price?"

"Five pounds. Would you like the butcher to cut it for you?"

"Yes please," said Starsky, bobbing up, his curls bouncing. He put on a huge smile for the young woman, who had reddish-blond hair and freckles.

"Yes please," said Hutch at nearly the same instant. Then he laughed nervously. "You are paying half, Starsk," he said, his voice low, plucking at Starsky's arm.

"Uh-huh."

"Get out your wallet, then. Hand it over."

"No, you hand it over. I'll pay," said Starsky.

"Oh, you'll—you just want to make a date with her."

"She's cute," said Starsky. He raised his head and grinned sheepishly at the young woman who was blushing now and had obviously overheard. "Are you doing anything this Saturday?" he asked.

They paid, Starsky got a phone number but only a tentative answer regarding Saturday, and they began to walk around the market, sans meat because the butcher was still cutting it. The market was busy with people, a steady stream of people young and old, rich and poor, from every cross-section of Bay City. Some stands did a lot of business, some much less. Displays ran from herbs and organic vegetables to imported cheeses, bread, and fish.

Starsky was in a very good mood, rubbing his hands together, whistling, taking big, buoyant, rolling steps, and regarding each stand in passing. He sometimes caught people running the stands' eyes and put on his big grin and doffed an imaginary hat. Eventually, Hutch reached out and pinched his side.

"Hey!"

"Could you be less of a spectacle, please?"

"What, walk with my eyes down like you're doing? Do you want some fruit or not?"

"Huh?"

"Fruit!" Starsky gestured angrily behind Hutch, at the stand they'd just stopped at.

"Oh—yeah, yeah." He began to pick out grapefruits—and blushed bright red when he knocked some down and they rolled out into the none-too-clean walkway.

"Don't worry. We'll buy all these," said Starsky, scooting after them and scooping them into his arms. "Four in all!" He grinned.

Hutch accepted a plastic bag, began to load them in, and nearly dropped them all again.

Starsky caught them and helped him. "Calm down, Hutchinson!" he said under his breath, and gave his partner a light swat on the side, peering into his eyes.

Hutch looked sort of deflated. He picked out a couple of apples, regarded the pineapples regretfully, and then pulled out his wallet to pay.

"I got it." Starsky was already paying. "And that pineapple too, the one on the end. Think you can carry it without dropping it?"

Hutch blushed scarlet. "Shows what you know! That one isn't ripe!" He walked back to the pineapples with two long steps and plucked at one of the leaves from the top. "See? They come out easily when they're ripe. This one is still green."

"Let me see." Starsky tugged at the leaves. "They're coming out!"

"Yes, but not easily. See, try this one." More spiny pineapple leaves fluttered down between the fruits and onto the floor.

"Well what about this one—?"

"Gentleman, please. Just take one!" said the harassed clerk.

"Oh sorry. Hutch, take the one you like." He turned around, started to leave, and then swiveled back, and plucked at one more leaf, frowning thoughtfully. This one didn't come out easily. Instead, the whole pineapple jarred free from the stand and bounced to the floor with a loud, meaty "thunk!"

"We'll take this one instead," said Hutch hurriedly, putting back his own and grabbing the one Starsky had dropped. He cradled it in his arm like a small animal as they walked away, and didn't glare and whisper at his partner until they were out of hearing. "Thanks a lot, pal! Now we have a bruised, green pineapple!"

"You don't have to eat any," said Starsky with dignity. "Besides, they ripen, don't they? Just leave it on the counter for a few days. That's what you did with the one in that fruit basket." He was referring to the fruit basket the precinct had given Hutch after he was in the hospital with the plague.

"Yeah, okay," said Hutch. "There's your donut stand. You going to buy one?"

"No, you're gonna buy it for me because I bought the pineapple."

Hutch rolled his eyes, but he did. He bought all three donuts Starsky picked out without complaining once. And when Starsky stopped at a deli stand and bought some cheese dip, Hutch held their purchases without complain (and didn't drop anything).

When he stopped at the candy stand, Hutch rolled his eyes at some of Starsky's purchases—then broke down and asked for some shoestring licorice for himself.

"And a pack of Beeman's gum," finished Starsky, pointing through the glass. "I used to get that stuff when I was a kid. And those candy cigarettes."

"Starsk!" protested Hutch. "Enough."

"Two packs. One for my friend." Starsky gave his most charming grin to the little old lady running the stand. He shelled out his money and didn't make Hutch pay for his own licorice. Soon they were walking further down the aisles, Starsky twirling a candy cigarette through his fingers and occasionally letting it hang out of the corner of his mouth and trying to talk like a gangster from an old movie.

"Hold these," said Hutch, shoving the bags at him when he saw the plant table.

"You don't want to buy your plants here," said Starsky in an undertone, accepting the load of goodies. "They're way overpriced."

Hutch didn't say anything. He was examining a jade plant with thick, green leaves. He rubbed one of them gently between his fingers.

"Hutch." Starsky nudged him and gave him a pointed look. He nodded to the price: seven dollars.

Regretfully, they moved on under the watchful eye of the lady who sold the plants. She looked as if she was guarding them and didn't want to sell any, even for seven dollars.

"I'll take you to the nursery if you need another plant. They don't cost twice as much! Besides, I always feel like she's going to interrogate you to make sure you take good enough care of 'em."

"When did you ever buy a plant from her?" Hutch's brow wrinkled. He searched his partner's face.

Starsky ducked his head. "That poinsettia I got you last year. Then I saw 'em for half as much when we went to the nursery to buy your Christmas cactuses, remember?"

"Aw, Starsk!" Hutch was grinning now, and he reached out affectionately to give Starsky's curls a quick, friendly scrub.

Starsky ducked away, smiling. "Well, you don't have to make my same mistake, that's all!"

"I have, though," admitted Hutch. "It's hard for me to pass without buying one—even if they're overpriced."

"Bozo. That's why you need me along." Starsky hooked his arm through Hutch's and pulled him down another aisle. "You want fresh-squeezed lemonade? It always smells so good."

"I want the one where they put oranges and limes in as well. Can we afford it?" He tried to hand the bags to Starsky so he could check his wallet, but Starsky shook his head and pulled out his own.

"Um, yeah, I think so. Unless you'd rather get roasted peanuts? Or maybe fancy cheese?"

"There's a nice farmer cheese a little further on, and those peanuts do smell good. Here, if you won't take the bags, pull my wallet out and see how much I've got left."

"Okay." Starsky reached into his back pocket, and Hutch stifled a giggle, biting his lip. "Looks like you've got ten bucks left in here. How are you going to pay for gas if you buy cheese?"

"Well, let's just get the drinks then."

"And peanuts. I want them now I've smelled them."

"Cheese next week," agreed Hutch.

Starsky slid the wallet back into his pocket and gave him a swat on it. Hutch jumped a little. "Watch it!"

He flushed slightly under the dubious gaze directed at him from a passing woman, and gave her a nervous smile.

Starsky took half the packages. They got their drinks and walked slowly slurping them, past the stand where two little old ladies sold homemade soap and homemade pies, jellies and jams (in flavors you never found in the grocery store), butter, eggs, and black walnuts.

Starsky looked at the pies but resolutely walked on. Hutch looked at the jams but resolutely walked on.

They bought the smallest sized bag of hot peanuts, and Starsky pretended to juggle it as if it was too hot. Then he tucked it under his arm and asked at the cheese stand if he could buy just a four slices of farmer cheese. Hutch stood embarrassedly silent behind him and then hurried away after Starsky paid and accepted the very thin package. "Makes us look poor!" he complained.

"So? Now you don't have to wait till next week." He tossed the package at Hutch, who now had one free hand. Hutch missed it and had to scramble for it on the walkway.

"Honestly, you're all thumbs today, Hutch."

"Well excuse me if I never played football!"

"You played baseball, though," reminded Starsky.

"I wasn't the catcher!"

"Whatever position you had to play, you must've had to catch. How'd you do it?"

"I'm gonna 'catch' you in a minute! Let's get the meat and go."

"Yeah, I guess I'm about broke, too. At least we'll eat good tonight. Hey, what about potatoes, and, er, salad? Do you have that stuff? Because I don't."

"I have potatoes and some lettuce. It couldn't hurt to get a couple of tomatoes."

"They're cheap. Which stand has the best?"

"The one where we bought the fruit already, but I don't want to go back there."

"Honestly, it's like you're embarrassed to breathe today! We didn't drop that much."

"It's just one of those days when it feels like you do everything wrong," admitted Hutch, his steps slowing as Starsky headed unerringly towards the fruit stand again.

"C'mon! Don't give in to it," admonished Starsky. "Or you'll be afraid to go back every time."

"I'm not afraid—"

"Scaredy-cat." Starsky hooked an arm through Hutch's and pulled him teasingly along. "I'll pick 'em out, you don't have to touch anything!"

Hutch stood wretchedly in the background, shifting from foot to foot, while Starsky picked out and bought two large, red tomatoes. He sniffed them first and Hutch winced, but he bit his tongue to keep from telling Starsky that wasn't how you knew they were ripe.

"Starsk," he said as they moved away, carrying yet another small plastic bag.

"It works for me, so not one word!" said Starsky.

Hutch blinked. "Okay."

"That was one, Hutchinson!" said Starsky in a stern voice. Then he turned to look at Hutch, smiling broadly. "You can show me some other time how you pick out tomatoes…by pulling the leaves off."

Hutch laughed with him. His hands were too full to take a swipe at his friend.

They picked up the freshly-cut steaks, smiled their goodbyes to the butcher and his assistant, and then headed out heavily-laden to the car.

"Pineapples get heavy after a while," observed Starsky. "You wouldn't notice it if you only carried them for five minutes. You want your licorice now?"

"No. Here are the donuts. Do you want…?"

"Gimmee." Starsky made a grab for the bag and took a big, satisfying bite. He closed his eyes briefly as he chewed. Powdered sugar decorated his mouth.

Hutch watched him chew. "You're not going to offer me any?"

"I got you farmer cheese!"

"Oh yeah." Hutch dug into the sacks to find it, then hesitated. "I should save it for scrambled eggs."

"I got some rat cheese in my fridge. We can have that on eggs."

"'We?' You're inviting yourself over for eggs now?"

Starsky gave him a look with his brows drawn down, and half a smile. "Yeah. Remember? Any time you want eggs, I'm there with you now, remember?"

"That—wasn't exactly what you meant—th-that you invite yourself anytime I make eggs!"

"No, but it works. Peanuts?"

"Yeah." Hutch held out a hand—and promptly dropped half the peanuts Starsky put into his it. He cursed and dropped to his knees, scrambling to get them.

"It's okay, Hutch. They're only peanuts! But hey, uh, maybe I should drive home?"

"Sure, why not?" said Hutch bitterly. He shoved the peanuts into his pocket and drew out his keys, scowling. "Perfect end to a perfect trip."

"Aw, now why are you acting like that? We had fun, didn't we?"

"Yeah," admitted Hutch. "Except for dropping everything, running out of money, and making a spectacle of ourselves!"

"We didn't spectacle once, Hutch." Starsky nudged him. "You're too sensitive today."

"Yeah, well you've got sugar all over your mouth!"

"I do? Where?" Starsky swiped at his mouth with his sleeve and peered at his friend. "Get it?"

"No, there's still some left. Here." Hutch reached out and wiped at it with his big thumbs. Starsky tilted his head. Hutch licked his thumb like a mother cleaning a kid and wiped at the left side of Starsky's mouth, scrubbing. "You need a shave," he added.

"Do not! I shaved this morning." He pushed Hutch's hands away.

"You do so. Your beard grows twice as fast as mine." Hutch reached back up and finished scrubbing.

"Everybody's beard grows faster than yours!"

Hutch grimaced and turned away. He saw a couple hurriedly pulling their staring child away from the scene, and casting looks back at the two grown men grooming one another.

"See? Everybody's staring at us today. It's just one of those days it's better to stay home and pull the curtains."

"You can pull the curtains while you're cooking my steak. C'mon."

He shoved the rest of the bags in the trunk, got in the driver's seat and started the engine. It started right away. "First try! The Starsky touch!" he crowed and raised his hands from the steering wheel and waggled his fingers in the air proudly. "I got it from my dad."

Hutch crouched low in his seat, staring moodily out the windows while Starsky navigated the parking lot and then got out onto the road heading home.

"Why do you think everyone's staring, anyway?" asked Starsky, without taking his eyes off the road.

"Because they are. When we traded places—when I dropped things—when-when you got my wallet out. It kinda tickled, Starsk! And just now. I guess most men don't wipe each other's faces in public." He slumped lower and crossed his arms.

Starsky glanced at him. "That embarrasses you?"

Hutch nodded.

Starsky paused. "I guess we could start acting like other guys, if you want."

"I—I don't. I just wish…"

"What?" Starsky waited for a reply, but when it didn't come glanced at him. "What, Hutch?"

"I wish people could accept us the way we are instead of always trying to label us because we're not like everyone else." His voice was low and unhappy.

"If they don't, screw 'em," said Starsky, quiet and serious. "Honestly, Hutch, I thought you were past giving a damn what anyone thinks."

"I guess I'm not. I've—I've spent my whole life feeling stupid for tripping or dropping things, being laughed at or treated like I'm stupid, and having to prove myself—like at baseball. I don't need something else to be thought I'm stupid about."

"So, what, you want to go back to staying the regulation three feet apart, no touching unless there's a ball game on and somebody scores, then you can slap me on the back?" asked Starsky.

"No, I—"

"Because that's what you're saying, Hutch. If we have to fit in like everybody else…"

"We—we don't, Starsk. Honest. I'm just—letting off steam. Don't mind me."

Starsky's fingers tapped the steering wheel. "Well, I do mind you, Hutch. If you're not happy, then I'm not either. If you need something to change, you gotta tell me."

"There we are again! You can't be happy without me? Of course you can! You're happy all the time without me! Honestly, you're like a big ball of happiness bouncing around."

"I feel down sometimes," said Starsky quietly.

"Sure, but not much. You've got a good handle on things, and it's just—it's just silly to say you can't be happy when I'm not! Honestly, it's like we're an old married couple!"

"We don't fight enough," said Starsky. "Or argue over what to watch on TV."

"Sometimes we do."

"Well, yeah, if you want to watch something stupid instead of sports or old movies."

"Or old movies you don't like," reminded Hutch. The furrow on his brow lessened as they spoke. He smiled a little. "You thought 'Gone With the Wind' was a movie about a storm!"

"I was pulling your leg, Hutch," said Starsky gently.

"You—" He turned to gape at his partner. "You didn't! I sat there and explained the whole movie to you…!"

Starsky nodded happily. "You did a good job summarizing. I always think so."

"You—" He reached over and dug his fingers against Starsky's side, wiggling them.

The brakes squealed as Starsky stopped at a red light. "Ah! No! Hutch, not while I'm drivin'!" He let out a strangled sort of suppressed giggle.

"You—you thought Ashley was the hero!"

"Heeheehee, stop it! Hutch!" He writhed away laughing, and raised one sneakered foot to kick out at Hutch. "On your side of the car! Back, monster! Back!"

"Honestly, I don't know why I believe a word you say!" Hutch moved back to his side of the car and reached up to smooth back his disarrayed blond locks. A glance at the car next to them showed a middle-aged male driver staring, frowning disapprovingly. Somebody in a car behind them honked.

Hutch's car jerked forward as Starsky drove, tires squealing a little.

"Not in my car!" yelped Hutch. "Stop it!"

"Sorry, Hutch, but you hadda distract me. We were holding everybody up!"

"So let them wait. Let the whole world wait!"

"But they might i_stare/i_ at you," said Starsky. "They might notice that you drop things."

"They were staring," said Hutch. "But so what? C'mon, let's go eat steak. But I'm picking what we watch tonight!"

"Maybe 'Twelve Angry Men?' I hear it's about a bunch of fighters," said Starsky teasingly.

"Oh yeah? And then what happens? They all get locked in a room and fight?"

"Something like that."

"Maybe we could watch 'It's A Wonderful Life.' I bet you have no idea what that's about, right partner?"

"Sure I know what it's about, Hutch," said Starsky. "Us."

the end

A/N: All of the things about the about the farmers market are based on people and stands at my local one. *g


End file.
